Happy Camp
by TeamVampire
Summary: Robin thought he'd never find a scarier place than the Dracula Castle.
1. Chapter 1

**Happy Camp – it's where troubled children go to learn how to be happy. Through happy music and happy dance.**

**After studiously re-watching the series, I decided it was time to give myself a go at writing for Young Dracula. The fandom certainly needs more stories. This one is set after "The Mummy".**

**Lastly, a huge thank you to drygionus for the support and motivation to write this.**

Happy Camp

Chapter 1

Third Person POV

"This is completely unfair!"

"Now, now, Robin," said Mrs Branagh in a placating tone. "I'm sure you'll have lots of fun. You probably won't even want to leave once it's over!"

"But you heard what Vlad's dad said!"

"Mr Count," interjected Mr Branagh sternly, "is not your father."

"I wish he was," muttered Robin under his breath. Louder, he said, "I don't need to go to Happy Camp!"

"That's what we thought, too, until that incident with the kitchen." The man's face contorted into a grimace with the mere memory of it.

"I _said_ I was sorry about that. How was I supposed to know home-made fake blood could be so explosive?" Robin grimaced too. "And stain so easily," he tacked on.

"We had to repaint the entire room," Mr Branagh chided.

"And I so liked that Sunflower Yellow shade," added Mrs Branagh.

Robin groaned and let his head fall against the window with a dull thud. Through the glass, he could see the surrounding countryside whipping by with an unwelcome speed. They'd been driving for well over an hour, and in that time Robin had tried everything he could think of to convince them to turn the car around. Pleading, faking an illness, offering to help with the housework (his mother had nearly given in then) and even promising to spend more time outdoors. But Mr Branagh was determined and nigh unshakable.

Robin started as his phone's message alert beeped, grabbing the device from the seat beside him and checking his inbox while his parents chatted obliviously about the weather. He had one new message from Chloe. Probably offering him last minute advice on fitting in and making friends – like he didn't already get enough of that. Rolling his eyes, he opened the message and was pleased to find it was actually from Vlad, borrowing Chloe's phone.

_Robin, it's Vlad. Hope you're holding up okay. It's boring here without you. Good luck, and don't forget to write. Might be able to convince Dad to let me come on Visitor's Day. If not, I'll see you in six weeks._

_Don't forget to write... _Like he was going to miss an opportunity to communicate with anyone _not_ on Prozac. Apparently, the camp had strict rules about contact with the outside world. Letters only. No phones, no television and no internet. To Robin, this meant one thing: no vampires. Well, probably not, anyway. With any luck, he'd stumble across another one at the camp. There certainly seemed to be more vampires in the world than he would've originally thought, though he doubted there were many with the same attitude toward "breathers" as Vlad.

Vlad. He missed him already. His first proper friend since kindergarten and he wasn't going to see him for at least another three weeks. Life was cruel.

His belief was officially confirmed as they turned into a long, dirt driveway with a loud sign overhead, bearing the words 'Hopkins' Happy Camp', with a glaringly yellow smiley face in place of the 'o'. Robin found he could do little but gape as they drove underneath it. As he chanted to himself ("This is not happening. This is _not_ happening."), he wondered if it was possible for him to go through the five stages of dying without actually facing death. He dismissed the theory as he realised depression would have to be a stage for that to work, not a constant state.

"Ooh, look, Robin!" cried Mrs Branagh, interrupting his morbid musings and pointing to a distant cabin they were passing. She leafed through the brochure avidly. "I think that's yours."

"But... it's _pink_," Robin replied, his horrified awe wasting no time in becoming plain horror.

"Oh, don't be silly! It's fuchsia," said his mother, as though that made all the difference in the world.

Robin glanced around frantically as his father pulled into the carpark. Maybe he could wait for his parents to get out of the car, then lock the doors. No, Mr Branagh had remote locking doors.

_Think_, he urged himself, squeezing his eyes shut. _There has to be a way out._

"Come on, Robin," said Mr Branagh exasperatedly from where he held Robin's door open, causing Robin to open his eyes in shock. His time was up. "You can't sit in the car forever."

Robin disagreed. He had a half-full water bottle and he was pretty sure there were some old crackers somewhere under the seat.

"Robin," began his mother, crouching down next to him, "we only want what's best for you."

"If that's true," said Robin quickly, "then you'll take me back to Stokely. The C- I mean, Mr Count thinks this place is awful, and he knows a lot about the world." He ought to after six hundred years.

Mrs Branagh bit her lip, looking on the brink of agreeing. Robin suppressed a grin. He could already smell the castle's dank stench.

"No, Robin," said his father, meriting a scowl from Robin. "We've been through this. Mr Count's opinion doesn't matter. I sometimes think he needs to go to Happy Camp as much as you do."

"Graham!" scolded Mrs Branagh. "You shouldn't judge Mr Count. It's been hard for him, raising two children on his own. It's no surprise he's a little bit down at times."

Mr Branagh looked slightly abashed, but blustered on regardless. "Well, it still doesn't change anything. Robin, get out of the car."

Robin moaned and painstakingly exited the vehicle, dragging the process out as much as possible. Once out in the open, he followed his parents to the gaudily painted administration building, giving the soles of his shoes a proper scuffing along the way. He knew he would come to regret this. The rubber was already wearing thin, and he hadn't brought another pair.

The inside of the room was, if possible, even worse than the outside. Layers upon layers of colourful posters and flyers were attached to several noticeboards, more than one of them advertising medication. Robin examined one as his parents talked to the receptionist.

_Feeling down? _it read in a nauseatingly fluorescent green. _Not yourself? Antisocial? Not to worry! All are easily corrected with our new, herb-based tablet – Hapup-C! Available at..._

Robin lifted his gaze from the advert as his parents called him over. As he approached the desk, the receptionist looked at him appraisingly.

"Hello, Robin," she said in the sort of voice one would use with a toddler, or someone they considered mentally deficient. "My name is Anne. I'm sure we'll become very good friends. You just come to me if you need someone to talk to, okay?"

Having not yet planned a course of action if such a situation arose, Robin merely stared flatly at her. After a few seconds, she coughed uncomfortably. "Yes, well, you should probably be going," she told Mr and Mrs Branagh, this time in a relatively normal tone. "Wouldn't want to be late for orientation."

"Oh, goodness, no," agreed Mrs Branagh. "Let's go meet the other campers, Robin."

Robin allowed himself to be steered through the doorway and down a worn path until they arrived at a stage with dozens of chairs facing it, most of them filled. As he inspected the other "campers", he became more and more assured that he didn't belong there. One of the teens had green hair and over a dozen facial piercings, for bats' sake!

Desperately trying not to freak out and make his parents even more certain he needed this camp, Robin walked behind them as they filed into a row. They sat in the plastic chairs, which were a varying array of bright colours, primarily yellow and blue (Robin eyed his father's pocket, where he had deposited the car keys, seriously considering making a run for it), and waited for someone to address them. Mrs Branagh placed a reassuring hand on Robin's shoulder, though it did little to dispel the feeling of imminent doom. Eventually, a blonde, perky looking girl, hair in pigtails and wearing what must have been at least eight different colours, bounded onto the small stage.

"All right! Who's ready to get happy?"

Robin's escape attempt was foiled by his mother's hand, which had suddenly gone from reassuring to restraining.

**For anyone who's wondering, no, I don't have any idea where I'm going with this. Thanks for rubbing it in.**

**-TeamVampire**


	2. Chapter 2

**Readers, ye be warned. This chapter introduces an OC (one of many, really, but this one is slightly more important). My first real one with a name in... four years? Maybe three.**

**Thank you to my reviewers, drygionus and Izzia, for the support and feedback. I love hearing which parts you particularly enjoyed.**

**Completely forgot the disclaimer last time.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Young Dracula or anything affiliated with it. Although I do have a cape. And plastic fangs, come to think of it.**

Happy Camp

Chapter 2

Third Person POV

Robin wasn't sure he had ever been so scared in his life. Admittedly, those moments when he had been sure he was about to be drained of blood by the Count were pretty terrifying, but this was definitely right below them on the list. Warily, he raised his eyes to the stage once more, only to immediately drop them back down. It still hurt to look directly at her.

"This camp's regime of life-affirming activities," said the girl, continuing her over-rehearsed speech in a high-pitched, chirpy voice while bouncing on the spot, which only served to blur the vivid colours of her outfit together in a migraine-inducing fashion, "have been proven to aid children and teenagers in developing a positive outlook on life."

_Well_, thought Robin gloomily, _at least she didn't use the word 'happy' that time._

"Happiness," she went on, eliciting a groan from Robin, "is, as maintained by many top psychologists, a vital part of our lives. Studies show that, on average, happy people live for years longer than the _unhappy_." She pouted artificially at the end, before her face brightened again. "Our goal is to improve the happiness and lifespan of as many young men and women as we possibly can!"

Robin sighed and leaned back in his seat, allowed himself to slide down even further. He would give anything to be back home in Stokely. Even the pastel houses were an improvement on the eye-burning buildings of the camp. Heck, he wouldn't complain about playing rugby with his brothers. At a particularly loud squeaky giggle from the speaker, he jolted back to reality, suddenly finding himself aware, with no small amount of surprise, that he was actually thinking of Stokely _longingly_. Then again, Stokely did have the castle... and Vlad.

He'd hardly had a chance to say goodbye. It was a last minute decision and they'd left barely an hour after the sun was up, so he'd had to let himself into the castle – Vlad, Ingrid and Renfield were still asleep, and the Count had just closed his coffin a few minutes previously. Vlad hadn't been too pleased to be woken so early (he'd given one of his "I'm not a vampire yet" lectures) and was even less so when he learned why.

Robin shook his head, trying to clear it. He was never going to make it through the next few weeks if all he did was pine for home. Pushing all thoughts of Stokely and Vlad from his mind, he let his eyes glaze over, settling in to tune out the rest of the mind-numbing sermon.

The remainder of the morning passed in a blur. All too soon, his parents were climbing back into the car, ready to leave.

"Eat all of your vegetables, and remember to be polite," said Mrs Branagh for what must have been the third time. "And try to make friends, Robin. People skills are important, even if you think you don't need anyone other than Vlad."

Robin spluttered in indignation, the only emotion besides depression and horror he'd shown since they arrived. "I never said I don't need anyone but Vlad!" He tried not to notice the light blush creeping onto his face.

"Of course you didn't, dear," replied his mother patronisingly. "Oh!" She threw a hand to her forehead. "Your phone!" Robin frowned, but handed it over. He'd been hoping she'd forget entirely. Apparently he wasn't going to catch any breaks this summer.

Mrs Branagh kissed his cheek. "Right, well, we're off. Good luck." One hug later she was in the car, closing the door. Robin found the slamming sound echoed oddly in his head. It rang of finality.

"Bye, Robin!" called his father as they pulled out of the space. "Have fun!"

Robin was left standing in the cloud of dust, luggage at his feet, wondering just how he was going to survive the next six weeks.

* * *

Dropping his bags on the front porch, Robin paused to catch his breath. In hindsight, maybe playing a little more sport would have been good for him.

_Too late now_, Robin thought as he stretched his arms. Having recuperated, he took a moment to observe the cabin close-up. Turned out his mum was right – it was fuchsia. With a pink door and shutters. He couldn't help but think that the colour choice was a cruel joke the administrators had come up with. It would certainly explain the tiny smirk on the receptionist's face as she gave him his map and itinerary.

Straining his ears, he managed to pick up on voices inside. "Time to meet the room mates," he murmured unenthusiastically. Bracing himself, he reached out and turned the doorknob.

As the door swung open, he noticed one thing straight away – the walls were painted pink – which was followed by the realisation that there was only one other person in the room.

"Who were you talking to?" Robin asked slowly as he shuffled inside with his luggage, shutting the door behind him.

The boy sitting on one of the two single beds glanced up. "No one," he answered smoothly. "Do you see anyone else in here?"

"No, I just heard someone speaking, is all. Thought you might have managed to sneak a phone in," explained Robin, covering up his suspicion. He dumped his things on the unoccupied bed, collapsing on top of them exhaustedly.

His new acquaintance – who Robin guessed to be about fourteen – snorted. "I'd be the only one. Those frisks are thorough."

"Mm," grunted Robin in an agreeable tone, wincing slightly as he remembered his. He was certain the receptionist had been smirking then.

"Anyway, I'm Andrew. Just don't call me Andy and we'll be fine."

Robin sat up. "Robin. Just don't call me Robbie."

Andrew smirked, getting up from his bed. "All right, Robin. So what've you got first? Aromatherapy? Finger painting? Aerobics?"

Pulling a face, Robin asked, "We don't actually have to _do_ those, do we?"

Andrew waved his timetable, blank side facing Robin, tapping it tauntingly.

"Okay!" Robin dug through his backpack for his own copy, unearthing various pieces of junk as he searched. Finally, he managed to yank it out of the mess in one piece. "All right, let me see... Oh, you have got to be joking."

"I'm guessing it's not 'How to Dye Your Clothes Black 101'."

"Ha ha," replied Robin sarcastically. "No, actually, I have a... group counselling session," he finished, wrinkling his nose.

"Oh, hey, me too!" Andrew grinned. "Show us your timetable!" He skimmed through it, his smile lessening slightly. "Well, it could be worse. We've got group counselling, interpretive dance and art together, but nothing else."

Robin smiled a bit. At least he still had art. But something else was bothering him. "Hey, Andrew? I've been wondering. What did you do to get put in here? I mean, you don't really seem, well, _unhappy_." He gestured at Andrew vaguely. He'd noticed the boy's obvious normality immediately – it was hard not to when he'd been expecting the green-haired guy for a room mate. But Andrew just seemed so average. Medium brown hair and brand name clothing in the style of most teenagers – a hoodie, jeans and high-tops. He reminded Robin a bit of Vlad. It gave him hope for his stumbling-across-another-vampire plan.

"Do you think anyone should be in here?" questioned Andrew with a raised eyebrow. He shook his head. "Tried to off myself," he answered the question casually. At Robin's shocked look, he continued hastily. "It's okay. My girlfriend had just dumped me and I was having a bad day." He laughed a little. "A bad month, actually. So I downed a whole heap of my nan's sleeping meds, thought they'd do the trick. Apparently, I didn't take enough, 'cause I woke up in hospital two days later. They pumped my stomach and told my parents to send me here. It was a stupid thing to do, but I never thought I'd get stuck in this place. So I'm just trying to tough it out 'til they say I'm 'happy' enough to go home."

Robin said nothing.

"Seriously, it's fine. I'm over that patch in my life," assured Andrew. He checked his watch. "Anyway, we'd better get down to the hall. I can tell you'd hate to miss the opportunity to meet our fellow prisoners." He exited the room without looking back.

Robin hesitated before following him through the doorway. Andrew seemed genuinely willing to get past what had happened to him, so Robin supposed he should let him, although he anticipated some awkwardness in the future. On the plus side, it seemed he'd made a friend. Well, sort of. At least his mum would be happy. Maybe this camp wouldn't be quite so terrible after all.

He took that thought back the moment he entered the hall.

It was worse than he could have ever imagined. The entire place was yellow. It reminded him of his kitchen before it was repainted, but infinitely more intense. The glass in the windows was rose pink, letting only pink sunlight shine through. In an attempt to escape the pure cheerfulness of the room, Robin looked down at his shoes, only to discover he was standing on an enormous, yellow smiley face.

He covered his mouth with his hands, unsure whether it was to prevent him from screaming or from being sick, and tried to back away. Unfortunately, he was thwarted by an arm slung around his shoulder.

"Ah, Robin, isn't it?" questioned the owner of the arm, a middle-aged, balding man. Robin could only stare with wide eyes, his hands still clamped firmly over his lips.

"Your parents asked me to pay special attention to you," continued the man, steering Robin towards the circle of chairs set up in the centre of the smiley face. "Don't worry. I'm sure we can work through your unhealthy obsession with vampires. And black," he added, eyeing Robin's clothing with distaste.

Robin, in turn, took note of the man's outfit, slowly lowering his hands. Mercifully, he wasn't wearing the entire rainbow, just a blue plaid shirt and trousers with suspenders. If one ignored the suspenders, he looked almost normal – compared to that girl from earlier, at least.

Giving up on any attempt to mentally prepare himself for the torture he foresaw, Robin simply took a seat as far from where the man in charge had positioned himself as possible. He nodded amiably to Andrew as he slid over a couple of seats to the one next to Robin, trying to let him know he wasn't holding anything against him.

"Now," said the man once everyone was seated, "my name is Mr Lane, but I'd like all of you to call me Simon. Everybody's on first name terms here. What we want to achieve with these group counselling sessions is a greater feeling of unity and connection within the group."

"I can already feel the love," whispered Andrew, eyes on a couple of girls who were pointedly facing in opposite directions, despite sitting in adjacent chairs, with their arms folded and legs crossed. Robin snickered.

"So," Simon went on, "we're going to start out with a little meet and greet. No point in being on a first name basis without knowing each other's names, right?" he asked jokingly. No one laughed. "Now, who wants to go first?" He seemed to almost visibly deflate at the lack of volunteers. "Okay, how about..."

"Please," Robin prayed silently. "Not me." He knew it was hopeless.

"... you." Simon pointed at Robin. He had to fight very hard not to groan loudly. That wouldn't help him any, no matter how much he wanted to.

"Right," began Robin. He hoped his nervousness wasn't present in his voice. "I'm Robin."

"And?" prompted Simon.

"And I'm an alcoholic?" That got a few chuckles. Robin relaxed slightly.

Simon wasn't amused. "Robin, using humour as a defence mechanism is not a good way to deal with your problems."

Andrew headed off what looked to be an extremely pretentious lecture. "But, Mr Lane -"

"Simon," the man corrected.

"Simon," continued Andrew, "he's making others happy! Isn't that what this program is all about? Aren't you, as a valued member of the staff, obliged to encourage such behaviour?" There was more than one person hiding a grin.

"There's a right way and a wrong way to make people happy -" Simon paused, frowning, and perused his files. "- Andrew," he finished.

"Why was the way Robin did it wrong, Mr Lane?" asked Andrew innocently.

"Please, call me Simon. And Robin's way was wrong because it was mocking me, and mockery may make some people happy, but it will also make someone very unhappy."

Andrew opened his mouth in feigned shock. "Mr Simon, sir, are you unhappy?" he asked sympathetically.

"No, Andrew, I'm perfectly happy. And just Simon is fine," replied the counsellor exasperatedly. "Let's get on with the session, shall we?" He held up a hand as Andrew started to say something else. "No more pointless interruptions. We're talking about Robin right now. So, Robin, why do you think you're unhappy?"

Robin gave Andrew a look somewhere between grateful and rueful. He'd tried, but Simon was relentless. Sighing, Robin focused on the man himself. "I'm not unhappy," he told him flatly.

"Come now, Robin. You wouldn't be here if your parents thought you were happy. What about your fascination with vampires?" A few of the group members perked up at the mention of the undead.

"What about it?" If he had to be here, he certainly wasn't going to be making it any easier for his captors.

"Well, vampires are well-known as dark, evil creatures. Why do you find that so interesting?"

"They're much more than just dark or evil," said Robin, momentarily forgetting that his vampire obsession was what caused him to be imprisoned in the first place. "They have all sorts of powers and cool rituals. And if they go for too long without blood, they become weak and dependent on their coven to bring them sustenance, and..." Robin trailed off, realising he was only digging himself a deeper hole. Next to him, Andrew was shaking his head in disbelief, presumably of Robin's idiocy.

"Hm. I see. Does anyone have any suggestions or questions for Robin?" One boy raised his hand. "Yes?" encouraged Simon.

"So, have you actually ever _met_ a real vampire?" he asked eagerly. There was an outbreak of muttering and several more hands shot up.

Robin exhaled heavily. Much as he loved discussing vampires, having to keep Vlad's secret meant a lot of question dodging. It looked like this was going to be a long session. For what was likely to be the only time, he and Simon were in agreement.

**Well, Andrew turned out darker than I'd originally planned (and much more annoying). Sort of. I didn't have much of a plan to begin with. He wrote himself, really.**

**Hm. Looking back over it, it seems the group counselling session was a little inspired by drygionus's Echoes and Memories. Hope you don't mind me borrowing a bit.**

**Also, I think I was trying to fit as many hyphenated words into that second paragraph as I could.**

**-TeamVampire**


	3. Chapter 3

**As always, I'm unendingly appreciative of my reviewers, particularly Grey the Mad Camel, whose correspondence has been extremely motivational. By which I of course mean it's been beneficial to my ego. Oh, and sorry for the delay. Just as, you know, an afterthought.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Young Dracula. If I did, I never would have allowed the show to be cancelled.**

Happy Camp

Chapter 3

Third Person POV

Fifty-five minutes into the session, Robin decided that anyone who wasn't depressed already would most definitely have to be by now.

It had taken a good quarter of an hour to move the discussion away from himself, and since the subject change they had talked to the green-haired boy – Syrus – about his problems with his mother, discovered that Adrian, a girl of approximately sixteen, had been bullied throughout her entire schooling career, and caused a small, shy-looking boy whose name Robin hadn't quite heard to admit he had a drug addiction. Currently, they were watching the drama play out between the two feuding girls, who, as it turned out, were sisters and had been sent to the camp as a way of forcing them to put aside their differences and bond. Robin didn't think it was quite working.

"I don't _want_ to share a room with her!" screeched one girl – Melody, as the counsellor had called her. Neither girl had been particularly willing to calmly introduce themselves.

Her sister – Harmony – scoffed. "And you think _I _do? I'd rather be stuck with vampire-boy over there -" Robin gave her an affronted look. "- than spend a single minute alone in that cabin with _you_."

"Look, girls," said Simon in a soothing tone as he mopped sweat from his brow, clearly wishing he'd never asked them to share. "Your mother requested that we put you in the same cabin. This is what this camp is for: helping you work through your problems so that you can have a happier, healthier lifestyle."

Apparently not what the two irate girls wanted to hear.

"You don't even know what you're talking about!" Harmony yelled while her sister's already gratingly high voice rose another octave, making just about everything she said completely unintelligible.

As both continued venting their anger on the poor – but deserving, in Robin's eyes – counsellor, Robin had to note that they really did sound like a melody and harmony; Melody's screaming apparent above all else, while Harmony's very slightly more subdued wails complemented and supported it. It would have been almost soothing if not for all the pain it caused his eardrums.

"Andrew!" called Simon, sounding as though he was just barely restraining himself from shouting. "Why don't you share with us?" It was a desperate move, but undeniably effective, as the sisters' loud protests had ceased, leaving them in their former angry silence.

Andrew looked up in quiet surprise, his face purposely smoothing. Robin had to admire his careful inexpressiveness. It seemed very practised.

"Of course, I'd love to discuss my inner turmoil with everyone, Mr Simon," Andrew said seriously, without missing a beat. "But I'm afraid I wouldn't know where to begin."

Finally giving up on correcting Andrew's address of him, Simon replied with, "Well, why don't you start by telling us a bit about your relationship with Shannon?" Though he tried to be discreet, the consultation of his notes was about as subtle as Syrus's hair.

Andrew let out a longing sigh, his expression wistful, before launching into what could only be described as a worshipful monologue. "Oh, Shannon... Shannon was the only one for me. I remember the first night we met. Shannon's parents were hosting a party – it was the talk of the town. My friends convinced me to go along with them. The attendees held no interest for me, though; I was ready to leave within ten minutes. But then our eyes met across the dance floor!" he cried, rising from his seat and throwing an arm out dramatically, pointing to a spot somewhere behind Simon.

"It was incredible. _Shannon _was incredible. Smooth, silky hair. Sparkling, azure eyes. We both knew it was love instantly. We were going to spend our lives together. But our love was forbidden! Our families hated each other. It was an old feud, dating back to before either side could remember. But that wasn't going to stop us. We'd planned it all out. We were going to run away together, with the help of my tutor. It was all going perfectly until... until..." He dropped heavily back into his seat, head held in hands – the very picture of mournful defeat. That is, until he moved his fingers slightly and winked at Robin, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Robin gaped. He had gathered that Andrew liked to play games, but this was... Well, it was brilliant, actually. He rather thought Andrew ought to begin a career in acting, albeit soap opera acting. He certainly had Simon fooled, and the sisters seemed to have forgotten their fight in favour of watching Andrew with sympathetic adoration. Some of the more well-read campers were looking on in anticipatory interest, many wearing knowing smiles.

After a skilfully timed pause, Andrew lifted his head, eyes shining and voice shaky. "Shannon dumped me."

"Did she say why?" asked Harmony tactfully, eyes full of concern.

Andrew blinked. "She?"

Robin couldn't help it. He burst out laughing. Thankfully, it was drowned out by the hourly bell, announcing the end of the surprisingly entertaining counselling session. Robin was still chuckling as he slung his bag over his shoulder and made his way to the door, Andrew beside him. He doubted anyone had seen that twist coming. Even the ones who had recognised the tale continued to mutter in amused tones amongst themselves. Simon remained in his seat, furiously flipping through his papers and sporting a strange combination of concentration and confusion.

Once out in the unfiltered sunlight, Robin nudged Andrew. "That was really something in there. I can't believe you pulled that off."

Andrew gave a flourishing bow. "What can I say? It's a gift."

Robin gave a small smile, which was quickly discarded. "But, you know, if you do need to talk... about Shannon..." He bit his lip. "I mean, I know we've just met, but I'm here if you ever -"

"'Preciate it, Robin, but don't worry yourself. This is only an annual camp. I got over Shannon weeks ago. She – and she was a _she_, by the way – moved on just as I did. We're still friends, actually." He checked his watch. "Anyway, I'd better get going. Hopefully I can get a sneak peek at the menu before dinner. Then I'll at least have time to prepare myself with some anti-nausea medication." With a short wave, he turned and set off in the direction of the dining hall, disappearing around a corner.

* * *

Robin lay on his bed in silence. Stewing in his own self-pity, his father would say. Personally, Robin preferred to think of it as contemplating the many miseries of his life. If he should happen to feel sorry for himself, then that was hardly his fault.

He was a vampire, trapped inside the body of a human teenager, living with a family who didn't understand him, and now being forced to suffer through this so-called "Happy Camp". Plus his room was pink. Any sane person in his situation would be miserable.

After a glance at the wall clock, which was, predictably, a smiley face, Robin sighed and rolled off the bed, planting his feet on the faded, lime-green shag carpet and staggering into a standing position. It was nearly six o'clock – almost time for dinner.

He'd been hoping Andrew would return to their room, not only because he wanted to know what was for dinner, but also because he would have liked someone to talk to. He'd never felt quite so lonely and cut off in his life. Even before Vlad arrived in Stokely, when he was still the weird, goth kid with no friends (of course, only the friends aspect of that had really changed, though Robin liked to think he wasn't considered so weird anymore), even then he'd had Chloe. But at this camp, Andrew was all he had. Which was a little strange actually, considering they'd only just met.

Robin snorted. It was stranger still that he'd spent the last hour doing absolutely nothing, holding on to the expectancy that Andrew would walk in at any moment. In hindsight, it really was rather pathetic. Perhaps he was becoming too dependent on others. From now on, he'd take care of himself.

Laying the issue aside, he began to make his way to the dining hall, which was near administration, just a short walk from his cabin. When he arrived outside the building, other campers were steadily streaming inside. Robin joined the queue, shuffling inside with minimal eagerness. If the food was as bad as the activities, he probably wasn't going to make it to Visitor's Day. It was either death by food poisoning or starvation. The latter was more appealing.

Inside, Robin searched for somewhere to sit among the rapidly filling seats. A chair next to Syrus was free, but he didn't particularly want him crying on his shoulder. Melody and Harmony had left a space between themselves, but no one was stupid enough to fill it. Robin kept looking. Before long, his attention was caught by a waving arm. It was attached to the shoulder of Simon, who was apparently gesturing for Robin to join his table.

Robin's eyes widened in alarm and his search gained new fervour. Just as Simon seemed to be getting up, presumably to forcibly bring Robin back to his table, his intended victim was yanked into a chair.

"You really ought to get here earlier," Andrew informed Robin casually. "Lucky for you, I saved you a seat. Otherwise you'd be listening to our mutual friend Simon's _fascinating_ lecture on the importance of positive thoughts right now."

Robin stared uncomprehendingly. He hadn't even seen Andrew, let alone realised he was practically right beside him. One moment he'd been desperate enough to take the seat between the quickly becoming infamous sisters, the next he was sitting beside Andrew, who he'd assumed had decided to skip dinner. It was all very disconcerting.

"Anyway," continued Andrew, "you'll be happy to hear tonight's feast is entirely edible, although I don't recommend the mashed potato." Andrew glanced around conspiratorially and leaned in, whispering, "It's a packet mix."

The corners of Robin's mouth curved upwards of their own accord. "I'll keep it in mind," he replied.

Maybe he could still be a _little_ dependent.

**I really do like Andrew. I can have a lot of fun with him. And I'm thoroughly enjoying writing this story. You know what's funny, though? I had a lot of the plot planned out in my mind (including the ending), but never wrote it down. And now I've forgotten it. Well, c'est la vie. Lesson learned.**

**On the other hand, I'm sort of glad of it. Planning always ruins a story. How am I supposed to enjoy it if I know how it ends?**

**-TeamVampire**


	4. Chapter 4

**No excuses. I'm infuriatingly unreliable, I know, but doesn't it make me all the more lovable?**

**Perhaps not.**

**Well, you can go ahead and thank SailorSilvanesti for this update occurring at all. She is super helpful (and just brimming with undeserved praise that my ego practically inhales).**

**I don't mean to drag out this author's note, but I'd really like to inform you all of just how much your reviews mean to me, for this story, specifically. Young Dracula has such a small fandom, but the thought and effort everyone puts into reviewing more than makes up for it. Thank you so much for your remarks, reactions and opinions thus far. I can only hope my writing is at a standard deserving of such provoking and interesting reviews. Personally, I think this chapter's a little half-assed.**

**Also, NekoEddo, whatever happened to your idea? I was all intrigued and everything, but it never came. Don't leave me hanging here.**

**Disclaimer: I own Young Dracula like I own a decent-quality Guy Fawkes mask. In my dreams. Although maybe someday…?**

Happy Camp

Chapter 4

As the staff and campers were finishing off the last of their dessert (a packet-mix chocolate mousse that Andrew refused to touch on principle), a man in a crisp, navy-blue suit stood up from his table, tapping his glass with a fork. The children, being children, took a few moments to quiet down, though the process was undeniably sped up by the mystery man's sharp glare.

Once the hall was silent, he replaced his tableware and addressed the congregation.

"Good evening, campers."

To Robin, the man's voice gave the impression that he ought to be behind a desk somewhere, approving – or, more likely, rejecting – loans.

"I'm glad to see you've all settled in," he continued, somehow managing to sound even less glad than any normal person in his situation would sound if they were lying about being glad and not trying to sound glad in the least. "Unfortunately, I was rather busy this morning and therefore unable to welcome you all during the orientation. My name is Mr Hopkins and it is my great pleasure to be the founder and proprietor of this institution."

To say he wasn't exactly what Robin had expected from the camp's founder would be an understatement.

Mr Hopkins had a certain austere look about him. His moustache was trim and perfectly symmetrical, and his dark hair seemed to be coated in a layer of product, preventing a single strand from falling out of place. He had no smile lines, but his brow sported multiple creases from years of grimacing, scowling and generally looking disgruntled. All in all, he reminded Robin a little of his Maths teacher, which, when he thought about it, was probably a good indication of how well he and Mr Hopkins were going to get along.

"I'd just like to remind you all of the group activities being held every evening after dinner, starting tonight."

Robin shot a questioning glance at Andrew, who shrugged, apparently just as clueless as he was.

Mr Hopkins continued in a business-like tone, ignoring the low murmurs being exchanged throughout the hall. "These activities are an important part of your treatment and as such require everyone's attendance, with no exceptions. Anyone not present and without a legitimate medical reason for their absence will be punished accordingly."

Simon looked as though he wanted to object to Mr Hopkins' oppressive approach, but lacked the courage for confrontation. It was just unfortunate, really, that he'd chosen to pursue a career in youth counselling.

"Now," said Mr Hopkins, checking his watch, "you have twenty minutes to do as you will before you're expected in the recreational hall for tonight's... fun," he finished after a barely noticeable pause.

Robin was still drawing parallels between Mr Hopkins and Mr Adams – referred to by Robin and Vlad as the 'Maths Nazi' **(1)** – when he received a sharp jab in his side. The rest of the campers had taken Mr Hopkins' resumption of his seat as their cue to leave and were currently swarming around the only exit in a very disorganised manner.

"Come on," prodded Andrew. "We've got some serious recon to do."

Standing up from the table, Robin made to push his chair in when his gaze was caught by Mr Hopkins, who, he was suddenly all too aware, was watching him with uncomfortable intensity. Then Andrew's last remark finally processed.

"What do you…" Robin averted his eyes from the camp founder and turned back to Andrew, only to find him halfway through the door. "… mean?" he completed tiredly. "No fangs, maybe, but he definitely has a knack for slipping away without a word."

With a hasty shove of his chair, Robin chased after his roommate, threading through the crowd and into the cool night air with mercifully few resulting injuries. He quickly spotted Andrew standing by the nearby shed – just outside the area illuminated by the light spilling from the dining hall – and, composure more or less regained, marched up to him.

"Look, if you're going to make a habit of this disappearing act –"

Andrew cut off Robin mid-complaint, grabbing his arm and dragging him behind the rusted (though still a reasonably bright green) structure, out of sight of the passing campers. Robin found himself with his back against the shed wall, held in place at the shoulders by Andrew, who was peering around the corner. Even as Andrew returned his focus to Robin and dropped his hands, Robin could only stare perplexedly.

"All right," began Andrew in such a professional tone as to rival that of Mr Hopkins, "here's the plan: we're going to scope out Simon's cabin – just a quick look around, you know, check out the locks and all that – no time for anything else. We'll have to wait 'til… Robin?"

Robin didn't answer. He was looking past Andrew to the bottom of a nearby slope, where clusters of trees thickened to a forest. Something had moved, he was certain, but at this distance…

"Robin!" Andrew took him by the arm again as Robin started forwards. "What are you doing?"

"I thought I saw… something," Robin replied vaguely. "I'm gonna take a closer look." With that, he brushed off Andrew's hold and began to make his way down the hill, careful to keep an eye on his footing on the loose topsoil.

Huffing in hypocritical indignation, Andrew briefly glanced around to check for observers before following. By this point, Robin had already made it to the trees and was staring intently into their midst when Andrew reached him, grumbling under his breath.

The forest was as still and dark as one might expect, although Robin, having spent more nights than he cared to recall sharing a tent with his brothers in similar locales, couldn't help but entertain the thought that it was perhaps a little too quiet. A light breeze rustled the leaves and he might have heard a trickling that belonged to a distant stream, but where was the life? Where was the chittering of bats, the crackle of rodents scurrying through dead foliage, the occasional call of an owl? It was nothing short of eerie, like a scene out of a B-grade horror film.

_But what part of my life isn't?_ thought Robin drily, still straining his eyes in the steadily increasing gloom. He'd seen something earlier, he knew he had. It was just a flash of movement, but the paleness of it – whatever it was – had stood out starkly against the trees.

Andrew sighed impatiently. "Come _on_, Robin. There's nothing here, and now we've missed our chance to case Simon's joint. Let's just go."

"Hold on," insisted Robin. "It can't have gone far. It was right here…" As he trailed off, the sharp crack of a broken twig echoed through the densely-situated trunks, followed by a series of crunches which accompanied Robin's swift footfalls.

Mind racing and heart pounding, Robin darted between trees, doing his best to avoid tripping over protruding roots as he ran in what he guessed to be the direction of the sound's source. The cold air felt like a knife in his throat with each breath, but he refused to stop, and with good reason. Rounding a tree, he caught a glimpse of white, not twenty metres ahead of him, but it was gone again a moment later, enveloped by the thick flora.

Trees and minutes flew by in a blur. All that mattered was finding this thing – finding out what it was. Eventually, the trees thinned somewhat and Robin's mysterious quarry reappeared. It seemed to have paused, and Robin, suddenly uneasy with the idea of confrontation, slowed his pace, finally stopping beside a large beech. Neither figure – was it a figure? – moved for a long moment as Robin stood transfixed and out of breath, and the creature… Well, Robin wasn't sure what it was doing. Looking at him, maybe? Did it even have eyes? He thought he could make out a head, but with the distance and lack of light he could really see little more than a pale blob.

Although he kept his feet planted firmly on the one patch of leaf-strewn earth, Robin leaned forward – a display of potentially fatal curiosity that he found extremely easy to carry out, having, as previously evidenced on numerous occasions, no common sense to begin with and therefore none which required ignoring.

The creature was unnervingly motionless and still indistinguishable from a large egg floating in midair – however, if Robin leaned in a little closer and squinted just right…

He let out a high-pitched yelp as cold fingers wrapped around his arm, spinning to face his assailant.

"Andrew!" he hissed. "Bloody _say_ something next time, yeah?"

Andrew muffled a snicker. "No promises."

Robin swore quietly and, as an afterthought, added, "And buy some gloves, mate. Jeez."

Smiling impishly, hands now in pockets, Andrew nodded at the very weak impersonation of a clearing behind Robin. "So did you actually find whatever it was you saw or what?"

"Of course, it's right –" Robin cut himself off, asking in a flat tone, "It's gone, isn't it?"

Andrew cheerfully nodded again, this time in assent, as Robin finally turned around to nothing but dozens of trees, all of which would have a very difficult time leading him on a chase through their collective midst.

"What? How…?"

Low-hanging branches scratched petulantly at him before bending or snapping altogether as he pushed through in a beeline for the creature's last-known whereabouts. Reaching the spot, he frantically scrutinised the surrounding forest, searching for a hint of the mysterious being. He was just examining the ground when Andrew sauntered over.

"It was here," said Robin, straightening up.

"Uh huh."

"It was."

"Sure it was." Andrew sighed in unconvincing self-sacrifice. "Why do I always get stuck with the mad roommate?" he lamented, earning himself a light punch.

Robin heaved a much more realistic sigh, giving the small stone at his feet a bitter kick into a nearby stream, presumably the one he'd heard earlier. He waited for the satisfying splash before beginning to make his way back to camp.

"Guess we'd better get back, then."

Andrew's eyes widened and he checked his thankfully luminous watch. "Crap. We were supposed to be at the rec hall two minutes ago."

"Great," Robin groaned, picking up the pace. "If Hopkins doesn't kill us –"

"– Simon's lecture will," finished Andrew, jogging at Robin's side. "Come on. We'll think of excuses along the way. How do you feel about thwarting an attempted invasion masterminded by a bunch of Goths?"

Robin laughed. "Not as good as I'd feel about leading them to Simon and letting _him_ deal with – ouch!"

He'd caught his shoe on a cunningly unobtrusive tree root and only barely managed to catch the trunk of the tree responsible, preventing his fall. His left hand had suffered some mild scraping, however, while his arm – thanks to its clothed state – escaped with only possible bruises, and a touch of survivor's guilt, naturally. His upper arm would eventually move past this, but his wrist, which had been so close to his hand, would be forever haunted by the memory of what happened that night in the forest.

"Stupid root," Robin muttered, accepting Andrew's assistance in righting himself. "Can't see a thing… Oh." Realisation coloured his tone (realisation produces a sort of cyan, just as a point of interest). "_Oh._ Hang on a sec."

He spent a few moments digging around in his many jacket pockets, eventually removing a small, cylindrical object from one on the coat's inside. "Aha!"

One tiny click later, a narrow but strong beam of light was issuing from the torch.

"My dad takes us camping a lot," explained Robin somewhat sheepishly. "Guess all that 'always be prepared' stuff rubbed off a little."

Andrew raised an eyebrow.

"I would've mentioned it sooner if I'd thought of it!" Robin continued defensively.

"Hey, no skin off my nose. I didn't trip."

"Shut up. We're late enough as is."

The next twelve minutes were spent in relative silence, if one discounted the laboured breathing and rustle of foliage succumbing to crushing shoes. The forest remained as quiet as it had during Robin's journey into it.

Finally, the pair reached the camp, although they were a decent distance from their point of entry. Robin privately thought it was a blessing that they'd found their way back at all, so he was hardly going to complain about such a minor discrepancy. Besides, they were closer to the rec hall than they had been, so it was really a convenience, not that it would help them any now.

They walked side-by-side towards the deceptively-plain hall, notable for being the only building on the camp's grounds that wasn't painted an overly cheery colour. The interior, as Robin could attest, more than made up for it. The very memory sent a shiver down his spine and caused his step to falter outside the entryway.

"Any last words?" Andrew whispered.

Robin swallowed – the universal indicator for fear… probably. "None that my mum would approve of."

With a fleeting exchange of forced smiles, the two boys pushed open the doors and stepped inside, realising too late that a more subtle entrance would have been preferable.

"Boys!" a voice cried out as every head turned to face them. Under the scrutiny of some four dozen pairs of eyes, Robin suddenly found himself very strongly reminded of school presentations. It goes without saying that his fight or flight response kicked in immediately.

"You're quite late, you know," Simon berated, strolling towards them. "Fortunately, you haven't missed any of the activity. We're just about to split into teams of six. Robin, why don't we make you a team captain?"

Robin blinked. The lack of reprimand for their tardiness was something of a relief, but at the same time, being forced into the role of captaincy was cruel and unusual punishment in itself.

Simon took their silence for deep regret and overpowering gratitude, apparently, because he beckoned that they follow him back to the group.

"Uh, Simon," said Andrew finally. "Where's Mr Hopkins?"

"In his office, I believe." Simon shot Andrew a suspicious look. "Did you have something to ask him?"

"Oh, no. I just, uh, I thought he'd be here. You know, overseeing things." His affected casual tone would have made his earlier acting shake its head in empathetic embarrassment.

All personification aside, Simon actually did shake his head. "No, no, no. Mr Hopkins rarely participates in the practical side of the camp. He has far too much to do as it is."

Robin and Andrew allowed themselves to be ushered into sitting with the other campers on the giant smiley face of a floor while Simon resumed his place at the front.

"All right, so our team captains are: Harmony, Daniel, Toby, Robin, Sariah, Sam, Daniel and Adrian." The counsellor alternated between reading from his clipboard and pointing out the appropriate people. "Now, everyone, split yourselves up evenly, thank you."

Small-scale chaos erupted as the numerous adolescents rose and scrambled to find their places in a fit of panicked insecurity. It took several solid nudges from Andrew's foot before Robin finally stood.

"Excited?" Andrew asked slyly, clearly amused by Robin's discomfort. Of course, Simon attempting to convince Melody to join Harmony's team was an undeniably amusing sight, so perhaps that was the source of his amusement. Frankly, though, it was a long shot.

"Thrilled," said Robin flatly. "Barely holding it in."

"Yeah, I noticed that. But look on the bright side!" Andrew gestured to the small group that was slowly amassing around them. "You have your own flock."

"I hope they get eaten by wolves," muttered Robin darkly, eyeing his teammates.

Before Andrew could rebuke his roommate and team captain with a charming, sassy and incredibly witty retort, the likes of which would have to be heard to be believed, Simon crashed their figurative party.

"Ah, I see you've got your team all sorted, Robin. Good to see you making an effort." Simon turned to Andrew while Robin stared blankly. "Andrew, perhaps it would be best if you weren't – that is, you've spent a lot of time together already, and it might do you both some good to get to know other people. Maybe another team wouldn't mind swapping…?"

Before this moment, Robin had believed Chloe to be the master of the Heartbroken Face.

"But, Simon," began Andrew in an irritatingly whiny tone, "this is a competition, right?"

Simon sniffed. "It's a team-building exercise with amicable contests to earn points."

"_Exactly_. And we're roommates. We have to get along. Imagine if we were on different teams and began to resent each other for it! Losing Robin's friendship now, well… that would be devastating."

"Er… devastating?"

"Uh huh. I couldn't think of anything more depressing if I tried."

After a moment of intense deliberation, Simon relented. "All right, Andrew, I see your point. Just make sure you two have plenty of fun, okay?"

He gave them an enthusiastic thumbs up – Robin prevented Andrew from returning it with one of the harsher expressions from his repertoire of disparaging looks – and left to organise the remaining teams.

Andrew grinned at Robin. "I call vice captain!"

**1. No offence intended. I've been watching Seinfeld… and College Humor.**

**You guys lemme know if you pick up on the change in writing style as this story goes. 'Cause it's there.**

**Also, look! Hints of a plot! … And my attempt to guess at typical wildlife on the other side of the world. All I hear at night is fruit bats and this freaky bird that moans like it's dying of patheticness. But seriously, least-plotted plot you've ever seen going on here. I did, however, remember how I'm going to end it. If I can pull it off, it should be quite good and hopefully unexpected. Just to be clear, that ending is many chapters away, if I get there at all. The main thing at the moment is keeping this from turning into a Goosebumps book, which is difficult because that card Stine wrote more sinister camp stories than I can count. #toddlermathsskills**

**-TeamVampire**


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